


Не пам'ятаю нічого, а ти (I don't remember anything, but you)

by gutbub



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutbub/pseuds/gutbub
Summary: War has ravaged the Continent, people are desperate and Jaskier just wants to bring a little bit of hope, of happiness, to be able to say that the dawn is just on the horizon. Luckily for Jaskier he gains an equidae companion... Or so he thinks.
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Melovin's Ти. And tbh I've only ever seen the show but I'm obsessed please send aid. Tusen takk.

_ In the dark times _

_ Will there also be singing? _

_ Yes, there will also be singing _

_ About the dark times. _

Bertolt Brecht

Jaskier had been travelling alone for a fortnight and a half, following in the wake of war and destruction wrought by the Nilfgaardians; he travelled simply, tromping along roads and scarcely used paths, a meager amount of coin and only his lute for company. He no longer desired to fill his purse with coin, instead he would rather see smiles grace the faces of his audience. He knew that music wasn't much, it did not feed the stomach, it did not sooth the fever, it did not destroy the pain of loss, but music would feed hope, and hope would get them out of this sorry mess, so he followed the war, playing his songs and expecting nothing in return. 

Dusk had begun to settle, casting the trees just starting to awake from winter in a blue-purple light, the little glimmer of green appearing gray, and shadows becoming dark as night. Jaskier squinted through the settling darkness, looking for any glimmer of light to signify shelter. Through the taught silence a whinny echoed, low and throaty ending on a seemingly impossible high note, and filled with longing. Jaskier frowned at the idea of a horse being out there alone, he wondered if it was a wild animal or a poor domesticated animal lost in the midst of carnage and blood. He peered between the trees, seeking out the source of the noise, when a pale glimmer of silver gold whickered and trotted towards him from between the dark trees. 

"Hey there, easy now, how are you? You poor beautiful thing." Jaskier murmured as he approached the palomino pony. It whickered again, deep, throaty and inviting as if to say  _ lay your burdens down, I will take them from here.  _

Jaskier ran his hands along the horse, seeking out points of pain and heat, any sign of injury at all. He pressed along the spine, giving a slight wince when the horse sucked in it's gut before he reached the pelvis. 

"Okay, your back is a little out of whack, but that's very common, and you don't have any injuries or swelling, or anything! You're very lucky, to be so unscathed in such a terrible time."

The horse nickered and nuzzled Jaskier, brown eyes looking into blue, and Jaskier shivered as he felt as if this horse was looking into his very soul and weighing him on a scale. The palomino's ears flicked back as if in thought, and then with a slight tightening of the lips the horse made up it's mind and walked to the road. Jaskier walked beside, resting his hand on the palomino's shoulder unknowing of what the horse actually was.

* * *

The colt pixie had been waiting in that damn marshland forever. The war had washed over it, muted and far, only the groundwater echoing the taste of distant blood spilled in the chaos of humanity, and the colt pixie had scoffed at their destruction. 

War came and went, it ebbed and flowed like the tides, the colt pixie knew this, and it knew that soon refugees, pioneers, pilgrims, would traverse through its territory, they would be broken and desperate, and the colt pixie would feast, become gluttonous on the despair of hopelessness. And so it waited. 

One evening as it watched a fish darting in a stream that had eroded away, leaving just a small bit of water and no fresh food, it heard the telltale steps of a two leg. The colt pixie breathed in the air, lips twisting up into the flehmen response to gauge what kind of two leg was travelling so close to the war, it was not a soldier, not a warrior, it was a human who smelled of love and hope. The colt pixie snorted, shaking its head as it lurched to its feet, heading closer to the road to see if this human was suitable.

It followed the human, watching how it's hands played empty air, and even though it's steps were slow and tired, it smelled of hope and love and joy. The colt pixie let out a whinny, hoping that the human would seek it out.

The human faltered in it's steps, coming to a shuddering stop as it turned to face the shadows of the woods. The colt pixie could smell the slight confusion and the worry coming from the human, worry that seemed to be about the colt pixie. It snorted and tossed it's head, hoping that it's mane laid in an appealing enough manner for the human to just hop on. The colt pixie trotted towards the human, nickering softly. The human reached out, speaking softly, "Hey there, easy now, how are you? You poor beautiful thing."

The colt pixie whickered, deep inside of it's throat, hoping that the lie would be bought. The human ran it's hands over the golden body of the colt pixie and if the colt pixie was being honest it would admit that it was nice. Until the human pressed the vertebrae before it's haunches, a pain stretched down it's back and it put it's haunches under it, tightening it's gut in an attempt to remove itself from the discomfort without upsetting the human.

"Okay, your back is a little out of whack, but that's very common, and you don't have any injuries or swelling, or anything! You're very lucky, to be so unscathed in such a terrible time." The colt pixie looked into the humans blue eyes, looking in past it's mind, to it's soul, where a song hummed in time to the humans life blood, filled with hope and beauty and love. The human was a male, it was a bard, he loved absolutely and completely. The colt pixie looked at the threads weaved throughout the bard and gave a sigh, Destiny had more for this human, it was not the colt pixie's place to take his life. With a decision made before it even knew there was a decision, the colt pixie stepped on to the road, the bard close beside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta get gear for Jaskier's new horse

_ My gold does not glitter and clink _

_ It gleams in the sun and neighs in the dark. _

The bard and the colt pixie walked the rutted road, stale water mudding the ruts, tufts of harsh winter grass spiking between the grooves caused by years of wagons and carriages rolling down the road. Jaskier looked at the pale golden horse, and hoped that no one in the next town was missing a horse. He would ask, because a farmer would be in far more desperate need of a working animal than he. But he would keep his fingers crossed. Until that time, he needed to find a name for his new companion. He took a quick glance between the horses back legs, it was a stallion. A very mild mannered stallion, Jaskier thought to himself. 

"What to name you, dear?" He muttered mostly to himself as his left hand untangled the horses mane. 

"You know, there's an old ballad, it isn't sung anymore about a soldier and his horse, Klitschka. The soldier was honorable in all things, except for one. He would steal extra rations for his horse, weighing Klitschka down, and when he was caught, he would be given less rations, and given the more terrible chores at camp, but nevertheless he always got more for the horse. He did not die in war, he did not survive the war either. While fording a river, he was swept away by white foam currents. Klitschka was never the same after that. Klitschka was an honorable horse, in the midst of war, much like you my friend." Jaskier rambled on, "So, I will call you Klitschka."

The horse gave a low rumble of acceptance and they walked in companionable silence towards the next town, glimmering lightly on a far crest. 

Jaskier began to hum a tune in minor key, and Klitschka thought to himself,  _ this human is alright.  _

Soon the pair reached the small village, which miraculously had minimum damage from the wild forces sweeping through the land. Jaskier headed towards the livery, Klitschka right beside him, head bobbing as Klitschka observed the little town.

Jaskier peered into the open livery hoping to spot a stablehand. A younger boy came up to him, "Need a stall?"

"Uh, actually, is anyone local missing a horse that looks like this?" Jaskier gestured to Klitschka.

The stable hand looked the horse up and down, "Can't say anyone in the area has a horse that color."

"Alright, do you have any tack for sale?"

"Hmm, the Nilfgaardians took a decent amount of gear, but we might have some mildewy stuff hidden away. I'll get the owner." The boy vanished away and Jaskier looked up at the hay coated rafters.

"That's a fire hazard, don't you think Klitschka?" 

Klitschka nodded his head and snorted, eyeing the oil lamp that hung nearby casting the barn in a warm golden glow. A few minutes later a portly man followed by the stable hand entered the livery.

"I hear you're interested in purchasing tack?" The man held a sweaty swollen hand out for a handshake.

"That's correct!" Jaskier grinned as he gave the man a firm handshake trying not to grimace at the weak grip of the other man, "However, I as many others in this time, am low on coin, so cheaper is unfortunately better."

The man chuckled, "Well, we have odds and ends, I'm sure we can figure out a bit of gear for a decent price."

Jaskier grinned and Klitschka pinned his ears back, not liking this newcomer. 

The man disappeared into a room and sounds of digging came out, a few minutes later with a simple snaffle with a headpiece and a simple saddle that was little more than the tree and stirrups the man reappeared. "You'll probably want a couple sheepskins for this saddle, one for your horse, the other for you." 

Jaskier frowned at the gear, the metal red with rust and the leather white with mildew, "How much?"

"Two silver coins." 

"Alright." Jaskier handed the man the requested coin.

"Tómas, clean this gear up for this gentleman."

"Yes, sir." The boy grabbed a rag and leather cleaner and went to work scrubbing the mildew away.

"Any good places to buy sheepskins?" Jaskier inquired.

"Farmer Low slaughtered some sheep a couple weeks ago, he should have some skins for a decent price."

"Where would I find this Farmer Low?" 

"He's usually at the tavern at this time. Red hair, ruddy complexion, probably drunk. You can probably get a below market price if you get him at the right stage of drunkenness." 

"Thanks, can I leave my horse here for like an hour?"

"Sure, just tie him to the hitching post."

"... May I perhaps buy a halter and leadrope?" 

"That'd be one silver coin."

Jaskier sighed and handed the man another silver coin and was promptly handed a halter and leadrope. 

Jaskier approached Klitschka, putting the leadrope around the horses neck, and placing the halter around his muzzle, buckling it by his cheek. He tied the horse to the hitching post with a murmured promise of returning shortly.

And so the bard headed to the tavern, lute on his back and a goal in his mind. 

A short walk took him into the tavern, air thick with smoke, and the smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies wafting gently on the smoke. Jaskier looked at the dour expressions around him and decided to sing a song. He strummed his lute, a melancholy melody and started humming before beginning to sing.

One son bid his family farewell,

Ready to fight for his feudal land

Not knowing of his future hell

And a golden horse in his hand

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man beds his whore

And the son says goodbye!

Klitschka was the name of the horse

As loyal as could be

The son stayed his course

As dutiful a soldier as any you could see

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man says he's bored

As the son prepares to die 

The soldier and his horse

As bonded as man and animal could be

Fought brave and true

Through many battles along the Great Sea

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man beds his whore

And the son says goodbye

The soldier though noble

Had one noticeable vice

When the officers weren't looking

He'd cause a bit of a supplice

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man says he's bored

As the son prepares to die

He stole the grain

For his valiant Klitschka

And when he was found in the rain

He only grinned as the officer shouted, "gotcha"

Who is war good for? 

Not you, nor I!

The rich man beds his whore 

And the son says goodbye

The soldier sentenced to punishment

Bore it all with a grin

For his Klitschka would stay safe

Her belly filled with grain

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man says he's bored

As the son prepares to die

Through the war they stayed 

Tried and true to one another

Until one fateful day

Whilst fording a river

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man beds his whore

As the son says goodbye

Klitschka swam straight and honest

Her rider close behind

And with a wail the soldier away was swept

And the birds harshly chimed

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man says he's bored

And the son prepares to die.

Klitschka's head held low

A stranger on her back

Her soldier long gone

In the hollows of the dark

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I!

The rich man beds his whore

And the son dies.

Who is war good for?

Not you, nor I

Not you, nor I

Not you, nor I

Not you, nor I

  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klitschka was a real horse that served the union during the american civil war, unfortunately her and her rider, trumpeter Wettstein have been forgotten by time. The ballad about Klitschka and her rider are accurate to events that happened with modifications to make it fitting for the Witcher universe.


End file.
